But the little model’s glance had stolen round
to meet the scrutiny fixed on her.

A look passed across her face which seemed to say:
’What have I done to you, that you should stare
at me like this?’

Furtive and fascinated, her eyes remained fixed on
Bianca, while her hand moved, mechanically ticking
the paragraphs. That silent duel of eyes went
on—­the woman’s fixed, cruel, smiling;
the girl’s uncertain, resentful. Neither
of them heard a word that Mr. Stone was reading.
They treated it as, from the beginning, Life has treated
Philosophy—­and to the end will treat it.

Mr. Stone paused again, seeming to weigh his last
sentences.

“That, I think,” he murmured to himself,
“is true.” And suddenly he addressed
his daughter. “Do you agree with me, my
dear?”

He was evidently waiting with anxiety for her answer,
and the little silver hairs that straggled on his
lean throat beneath his beard were clearly visible.

“Yes, Father, I agree.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Stone, “I am glad
that you confirm me. I was anxious. Follow!”

Bianca rose. Burning spots of colour had settled
in her cheeks. She went towards the door, and
the little model pursued her figure with a long look,
cringing, mutinous, and wistful.

CHAPTER XX

THE HUSBAND AND THE WIFE

It was past six o’clock when Hilary at length
reached home, preceded a little by Miranda, who almost
felt within her the desire to eat. The lilac
bushes, not yet in flower, were giving forth spicy
fragrance. The sun still netted their top boughs,
as with golden silk, and a blackbird, seated on a
low branch of the acacia-tree, was summoning the evening.
Mr. Stone, accompanied by the little model, dressed
in her new clothes, was coming down the path.
They were evidently going for a walk, for Mr. Stone
wore his hat, old and soft and black, with a strong
green tinge, and carried a paper parcel, which leaked
crumbs of bread at every step.

The girl grew very red. She held her head down,
as though afraid of Hilary’s inspection of her
new clothes. At the gate she suddenly looked
up. His face said: ‘Yes, you look
very nice!’ And into her eyes a look leaped
such as one may see in dogs’ eyes lifted in adoration
to their masters’ faces. Manifestly disconcerted,
Hilary turned to Mr. Stone. The old man was standing
very still; a thought had evidently struck him.
“I have not, I think,” he said, “given
enough consideration to the question whether force
is absolutely, or only relatively, evil. If I
saw a man ill-treat a cat, should I be justified in
striking him?”

Accustomed to such divagations, Hilary answered:
“I don’t know whether you would be justifed,
but I believe that you would strike him.”